Poison
by bohemienne
Summary: Mrs. Lovett attempts to comfort Lucy after her ordeal. Her level of success is debatable.


Disclaimer: _Sweeney Todd_ belongs to Stephen Sondheim and Hugh Wheeler.

* * *

Mrs. Lovett knew that something would have to be done about the woman upstairs. Business had been even worse than usual lately, and Mrs. Lovett did not think this was a coincidence. For the past week, her meat pie shop had been echoing with the lamentations of a certain Lucy Barker, and it was high time Mrs. Lovett put an end to it. Hysterical crying was not good for business.

It wasn't that that Mrs. Lovett didn't sympathize with her ruined neighbor, but she had her own livelihood to think about. And if she were to be entirely honest (and sometimes she was, though rarely), she had never quite cared for Mrs. Barker. Oh, she didn't hate Lucy or anything so strong as that; she was more of an annoyance than anything else. Like one of those stray cats that you couldn't kick in public because then people would look at you like you just killed someone. Lucy was too harmless to hate, but too pathetic to like. And she always was such a silly little thing, straight out of a sentimental romance. It was hardly a surprise that her innocence had finally been taken advantage of.

Mrs. Lovett knew all about what had happened to Lucy; most of the neighborhood did. At best, people pitied her but thought she should have known better; at worst, they said she had deserved it, maybe even had wanted it. She supposed Lucy knew that her disgrace was public knowledge, and that this was why she had become such a hermit lately, with only her infant daughter for company. Mrs. Lovett didn't think Lucy had deserved it or anything so harsh as that, but she supposed she could be just a bit sorrier for her neighbor. After all, it wasn't Lucy's fault that her mind wasn't as bright as her hair.

Mrs. Lovett could remember the night it happened very clearly. Poor, sweet Lucy, still heartbroken from her husband's recent incarceration, had come to the shop to let her landlady know that she was going out for the evening, and would she please listen for little Johanna, should she cry?

"Finally going out for the night, Mrs. Barker? 'Bout time you had a little fun again, dear," Mrs. Lovett had said.

"It's not exactly a matter of pleasure," Lucy replied with a weak smile. "The Judge feels terrible about what happened, Beadle Bamford tells me. He wants to speak with me, and the Beadle's waiting outside right now."

Mrs. Lovett had doubted the Judge's sincerity. Judge Turpin was rarely repentant, from what she heard about him, and it was obvious enough he wanted Lucy for his own uses. But she only smiled and agreed to watch out for Johanna. Let Lucy find out the hard way that she shouldn't be so trusting. She would have to learn sooner or later.

As for Johanna, Mrs. Lovett had to admit that she was a lovely little thing, though she had only seen the girl briefly. The baby had been the perfect addition to an already perfect marriage, and Mrs. Lovett couldn't help but find the child delightful even if her mother was a bit dim. Mrs. Lovett would never be a mother, not with Albert dead and buried, God rest his soul. They had tried, but Mrs. Lovett supposed she just wasn't destined for motherhood. She would have liked to take care of Johanna more often, get a chance to exercise her maternal heart, but Lucy rarely parted from her baby.

On the night Lucy walked right into the Judge's trap, Mrs. Lovett did go look in on Johanna, though the child hadn't made any noise all night. Her hair was yellow like her mother's, true, but Mrs. Lovett tried to find something of Johanna's father in that small face. It wasn't easy—all babies looked the same to Mrs. Lovett, to be honest—but she thought she found a twinkle in Johanna's eye, something that Mrs. Lovett had often seen in the eyes of Benjamin Barker when he looked at his beautiful family. This familiar and well-loved feature inspired Mrs. Lovett's dormant honesty to stir from its slumber, and she could not help whispering to the child a thought that had occurred to her the day little Johanna had been born. "If things was the way they ought to be, love, I'd be your mother, 'stead of her."

Yes, she had loved Johanna's father, a fact that she had tried to make clear to Mr. Barker on numerous occasions, Lord knows. But the man was either completely oblivious or completely in love with his wife. Despite her efforts at self-delusion, Mrs. Lovett knew it was the latter. Benjamin Barker had loved his wife and child with a fierceness and an intensity that made Mrs. Lovett shudder when she thought about it. But she couldn't understand _why _he had been so devoted to his wife. She was a silly fool, that Lucy Barker. No, Mrs. Lovett didn't hate Lucy, nothing as bad as that, but it was hard, sometimes, to feel any goodwill towards her. Lucy simply didn't deserve her husband, that was all.

Mrs. Lovett knew she had been just as distraught as Lucy about poor Benjamin's sentence, but no one would find her moping about, making a mess of herself. No, sir, not Nellie Lovett. She knew how to keep her head above water no matter how high the flood. Mrs. Lovett knew that if Benjamin Barker had been her husband, she would have spent every day making sure that his home would be ready for him, just as he had left it, instead of drowning his home with tears.

But despite Mrs. Lovett's deep distress at having lost the handsome man upstairs, she had to admit (though she often pushed the thought aside) that she was relieved he was gone. It had been exhausting not to have him. It was painful to have that much _want_ without ever reaching fulfillment. And though she could never have him, at least Lucy couldn't, either, and that was some comfort. No longer would Mrs. Lovett hear him come home and wish that he were coming home to _her_ instead of to Lucy. No longer would she have to see the two of them together, a constant reminder of the life that was not hers. In some ways, it was easier on her poor heart now that he was gone. Oh, but she missed him, though.

She found herself telling all this to Johanna, and it was probably for the best that the baby did not understand a word of it. She only reached out for Mrs. Lovett with her small arms, attracted to the woman's red hair, but Mrs. Lovett was too preoccupied to notice this. Eventually, after making sure Johanna was asleep, she went back downstairs, still shaken over the strength of her feelings for the unfortunate barber.

Later that same evening, she heard Lucy return to her rooms, sobbing loudly enough to wake the dead. Mrs. Lovett didn't know why Lucy was crying, but there was still something oddly satisfying about it. It seemed that her delicate neighbor had at last learned the truth about the world, since losing her husband hadn't quite done the trick, apparently. Alone in her room, Mrs. Lovett indulged herself with one of the most genuine smiles that had ever crossed her face. She'd find out about Lucy's disappointment tomorrow, she was sure.

"The poor thing!" Mrs. Lovett had cried when one of her customers explained what had happened to the tenant upstairs. "Poor dear, and only just starting to move on from that business with her husband."

"If you ask me," said the customer (now faceless in Mrs. Lovett's memory), "she's lucky her husband's never coming back. Doubt if he'd even want her anymore if he found out what happened."

Mrs. Lovett supposed she had made some suitably sympathetic remark at the time, but she couldn't remember what that was. The customer's statement had started a whole new train of thought, and she was understandably distracted. It was ridiculous to think that Mr. Barker would ever come back, of course, but that delicious what-if tickled her brain in the most delightful ways. Would he still want his wife? Women often got blamed for these sorts of things, after all. Perhaps it wasn't fair, but it was a fact, nevertheless. More importantly, if Mr. Barker decided his wife was no longer quite the paragon of virtue he had thought she was, would he want someone else to take her place? Surely he would need a pair of arms (among other things) to soothe his tortured soul. It was only a fantasy, and not a very likely one, but Mrs. Lovett held it close to her and nursed it like the child she would never have. She rarely went a day without adding onto it, taking a few moments to indulge in her life as the new Mrs. Barker. Maybe she would become a mother, at last. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife, and all that, but there was nothing against coveting the husband.

A week had gone by since that fateful night, a week since Mrs. Lovett's dislike of her neighbor had been given a new purpose. Lucy was barricaded in her room, crying all day and sometimes into the night, and it was driving Mrs. Lovett crazy. Something would have to be done, all right. Mrs. Lovett decided that it was time to be a good neighbor and have a talk with the woman. She took off her apron, put on an appropriate expression of sympathy and concern, and went to comfort poor Lucy.

* * *

Her world was broken. There was no other way to describe it. Nothing felt the same to her anymore, not even her own body. In the daytime, she couldn't stop feeling his hands on her, and when she slept, she could still hear them laughing. They had laughed at her, at her disgrace, at her utter ruin. And now, nothing would ever be the same.

Lucy wished she could forget, could erase that night from her mind and be reborn again. She had considered taking Johanna and moving away to some new place where no one could know who she was or what had happened to her, but even if no one else knew, she would still know. She would always remember.

But surely, she could find some comfort in her daughter, at least? It was a source of great guilt to Lucy that Johanna was not enough to bring her out of her depression. On the contrary, looking at her beautiful baby girl only made Lucy more aware that her disgrace could never be forgotten, never undone. Johanna, too, would be stared at, whispered at, spat at, and all because her mother was seen as a whore.

Yes, Lucy knew that they called her that name. She had not been able even to think the word at first, but she could not avoid it any longer. She hadn't left her room very often in the past week, but she had been out in the world long enough to know what they called her when she passed by. It had bothered her at first, but now Lucy's main worry was if they were right. She _was _spoiled, wasn't she? Hadn't she been brought up to think that way of fallen women? And what would Johanna think of her mother when she was old enough to know what the neighbors said? Would she be ashamed of Lucy, ashamed to be the daughter of a whore and a convict? Sometimes Lucy thought that Johanna would be better off without her.

Oh, there it was again, that one black thought that had been plaguing her mind since the night she returned home, her dress torn and dirtied, from the Judge's home. It was weak of her, she knew, not to mention immoral, but it was getting harder to be strong these days, especially with Benjamin gone.

And that was a whole new source of trouble for Lucy. She did not know what to dread more—that Benjamin could never come back, or that one day, through some miracle, he _would_ come home, home to his ruined wife. The question that crept into her mind when she thought about her husband frightened her. _Would he still want her?_ He had been brought up to value virtue just as she had. Would he think her spoiled? Would he be able to think as highly of her as he once did? But it didn't matter, in the end. He was gone, never to come home again. And maybe that was for the best.

She envied him. It was a terrible thought, but Lucy couldn't stop having terrible thoughts these days. In the mind of her husband, she was still pure, still virtuous. Lucy envied him that knowledge. She wished she could still think of herself like that. It didn't make any sense, of course. It hadn't been her fault, she knew it wasn't her fault, but she couldn't wash away the feelings of guilt and sin that she felt in her very soul. She hated herself even more for feeling guilty for something that so obviously wasn't her doing. There was no end to her self-loathing; there would be no end, until death.

And round and round her mind would go, always back to that one yearning, that one idea that would not stop tempting her. Would it be so terrible to leave this world that had treated her so poorly? There was no undoing what had happened, so why couldn't she just end her misery? She had no doubt that Johanna would be better off without the taint of her mother's disgrace hanging over her.

She kept her secret in a drawer by the bed, and in her darkest moods, she would open the drawer and look at the small bottle inside. They had found a rat, not too long before Benjamin's arrest. It could have been an isolated occurrence, but they didn't want to take their chances, especially not with Johanna just beginning to crawl, so Lucy had paid a visit to the apothecary. Arsenic was so easily acquired, she had almost forgotten that it was deadly. Almost. The bottle was tinted a shade of orange, and when she looked through the glass, it seemed as if the sky were burning, the whole city on fire.

Time and time again, she would look at the bottle, hold it, set it down, pick it up again, until finally, she would place it back in the drawer. The thought of actually putting the arsenic to use terrified her, but it comforted her to know the bottle was there, just in case she should need it. She had so little control over her life lately, and it gave her a strange thrill to know that she could at least have this power, something that no one could ever take from her.

She knew she would never do it, though. Whether because of cowardice or because she could not bear to miss seeing her daughter grow into a lady, she wasn't sure. She simply wasn't ready to die, yet, but she worried that one day she would be, that one day just looking at the bottle would not be enough to erase her sense of powerlessness. There were times when she thought about getting rid of the bottle, but the feeling of entrapment would creep in on her again, and she found she needed it to be there, even if she did not want to use it just yet.

_Selfish_, she thought. It was selfish of her to give up so easily when she had a baby to care for, a husband to miss. Without her, Benjamin would have no one to miss him, no one to remember the injustices he had suffered. He would be forgotten, and in that sense, she would have killed him, too.

But on the morning Mrs. Lovett had finally had enough, Lucy was in the familiar position on the floor by the dresser, a small glass bottle in her hand. She was crying again. It seemed as though she would never run out of tears, never be able to stop the flood of despair that constantly submerged her. Johanna was asleep, and Lucy wished she could be strong enough (or weak enough; she wasn't sure which) to finally let herself drown. While sitting there, lost in her own sorrow, Lucy was startled by a sharp knock on the door, followed by a voice.

"Mrs. Barker? It's Mrs. Lovett, dear. I've come to talk with you, just the two of us. We'll just have us a nice little chat."

Lucy was not sure she was fit to be seen by anyone just yet, but her loneliness won over her sense of propriety. She quickly, but carefully, dropped the bottle back into its drawer, brushed off her dress, wiped her eyes dry with one arm, and opened the door. Surely a little chat would be just the thing to raise her spirits after all this time.

* * *

The first thing Mrs. Lovett noticed was Lucy's hair. It was tangled and sloppy, half spilling onto Lucy's shoulders. But most of all, she noticed that Lucy's hair had lost the shine that had made it look like spun gold. Apparently, Lucy was not so radiant once she started to neglect her appearance. It was strangely comforting to see that the angel was only flesh and blood after all.

"Good afternoon, dearie. Feels like I haven't seen you in ages!" Mrs. Lovett said as she took a step into the room and gently put her hand on the other woman's shoulder. Mrs. Lovett considered giving her a hug, but she supposed that neither one of them would enjoy it. Lucy did seem rather skittish. "I have to be honest, Mrs. Barker. I've been worried about you of late. Not healthy to stay in your room all day and night, love."

Something like frustration and something like shame passed over Lucy's face. "I…I know, Mrs. Lovett. I shouldn't stay inside all day. It's just been difficult lately to—well, I'm sure you don't want hear about my problems."

"Nonsense, dear! That's what I'm here for, after all. You look like you need a shoulder to cry on, isn't that right? Why, is that the baby? I haven't seen her in God knows how long." Mrs. Lovett walked to the crib that held Johanna in the corner of the room. But today she couldn't see Mr. Barker in the baby; all she saw were traces of Lucy, and that irritated her a bit. This trace of bitterness loosened her tongue, and she heard herself saying, "Poor dear, never to know her own father. Why, if I was you, Mrs. Barker, I'd think of remarrying. Give little Johanna here a proper father."

Lucy's pained cry indicated to Mrs. Lovett that she had said the wrong thing. Trying to hide her annoyance, she turned around to find the other woman slumped on the floor, her hands over her face. She was crying. Again.

"What's the matter now, dear? Mrs. Barker?" Mrs. Lovett walked over to Lucy, standing over her, her shoes inches away from the dirty yellow hair spilled on the floor. It was quickly becoming clear to her that getting Lucy out of her depression would not be easy. "Lucy?" she said. "Talk to me, love."

After taking a shaky breath, Lucy finally answered. "I miss him so, Mrs. Lovett."

"You mean Mr. Barker?"

"Yes. Benjamin."

"Benjamin," Mrs. Lovett said, relishing the chance to say his first name aloud. "I know it's hard, dear, losing a husband like that. I know when Albert died, I was hard pressed to find anything worth living for, but I managed all right, didn't I?" That was not completely true; she certainly hadn't wasted too much time mourning her dead husband, but Mrs. Lovett thought a little lie to help a woman in need couldn't be counted against her.

"It feels like this will never pass," Lucy said between sniffles. "He'll always be gone and I'll always be disgraced. It'll never change, never get better. It can't ever be undone."

Mrs. Lovett knelt down on the floor, putting her arms around Lucy in as natural a manner as she could manage. Lucy quickly dropped her head onto Mrs. Lovett's lap, too desperate for human kindness to be aware of her neighbor's discomfort.

"Hush now, Mrs. Barker. Nothing to worry about anymore." Mrs. Lovett put a hand on Lucy's head and started to gently stroke her hair, her rusty maternal instincts kicking in. "It's the Judge you're talking about, ain't it? What he did to you?"

Lucy let out a muffled "yes," and after a short silence, Mrs. Lovett continued. "You know that wasn't your fault, dear."

"I know," Lucy said. "But I feel the shame of it just the same. Is that foolish of me?"

Mrs. Lovett thought it certainly was, but she didn't plan on saying it. "Of course it's not foolish. You've just got to stop thinking that way. Lift your head up high and spit at them who'd turn up their noses."

"It's not only them I'm worried about. Oh, Mrs. Lovett," Lucy whispered. "What if…"

"What if what, dear?"

"What if he wouldn't want me anymore?"

Mrs. Lovett spoke carefully. "Your husband, you mean?" And then, taking the opportunity to say it again, "Benjamin?"

Lucy nodded, her face still obscured by her hair.

"Well, it ain't likely he'll ever know," Mrs. Lovett said, her voice a touch unsettled.

"But if he did? He wouldn't think less of me, would he?"

_No_, Mrs. Lovett thought. _Little fool, didn't you see the way he looked at you? Didn't you see how much he loved you? _But she couldn't bring herself to say it, couldn't bring herself to admit that the fantasy she had concocted could never come true. Instead, she continued to stroke Lucy's hair and said, "Well, I certainly wouldn't, but then again, women are more likely to understand these kinds of things. But men…men are funny creatures, Mrs. Barker. They think a woman's only worth what they can take from her. Once they think that someone else can take it, too, they start to lose interest."

"Oh God," Lucy whimpered.

"It's a terrible thing about men, it is," Mrs. Lovett continued. "They're fickle to the bone. But he was a good man, your husband."

"Yes! He was! He is!" Lucy lifted her head and looked at Mrs. Lovett with new hope in her eyes.

"Yes, but a good man only wants a good woman. And a good woman (and mind you, this is how men think, right or wrong), a good woman is a pure woman."

"I was pure," Lucy said, her brief moment of hope slowly draining out of her.

"Yes, you were. But you know how men are about these things."

"Yes, I know." Lucy slowly wilted, her head dropping into her hands.

Mrs. Lovett continued, reciting the same arguments that had given her comfort for much of the past week. She was slightly oblivious to the effect her words were having on Lucy, but only slightly. "And do you think a good man like Benjamin Barker would want to come home to a wife who'd been used in that way?"

"No."

"No. It hurts me to say it, dear, but he might think that you're not good enough for him anymore."

Lies, lies, all lies. Mrs. Lovett let them fall from her tongue, one after the other. But no! It was God's truth, wasn't it? Men didn't want fallen women, and that was a fact. And Benjamin Barker certainly didn't_want_ to come home to find Lucy so disgraced. Mrs. Lovett never actually _said_ that he would abandon Lucy, only that he would be upset to find out what had happened. And that was truth, to be sure! As for her not being good enough for him, well, that had always been true.

Mrs. Lovett wasn't sure why she was telling Lucy all this, but she couldn't say the other thing. She couldn't say that there was a very good chance that if Mr. Barker returned, he would love Lucy just as much as he always did. It was easier to shatter Lucy's hopes than her own.

Lucy interrupted Mrs. Lovett's thoughts. "Mrs. Lovett, there's something I need to show you."

"What, dear?"

Lucy stood up, walked to the dresser by her (_their_) bed and brought back a small bottle. She sat down on the floor again, holding out the bottle. Mrs. Lovett had killed many a rat in her establishment (some of which she had put to good use), so the arsenic was instantly familiar to her.

When she realized why Lucy was showing her the bottle, Mrs. Lovett was suddenly filled with disgust. So she was a little coward, then, ready to jump ship the moment the waters got too rough. Here she had a perfect baby, memories of a perfect husband, and rather than try to get herself out of this mess, she was prepared to leave it all behind. She was weak, Lucy Barker. She'd let a man like Judge Turpin make her feel like she wasn't worth anything. The woman simply couldn't hold on to a single one of her blessings, not even her will to live. She let everything just slip past her and Mrs. Lovett couldn't stand to think that it would all go to waste. If she hadn't hated Lucy Barker before, she certainly did now.

"Mrs. Lovett?"

"Sorry, dear. Did you say something?"

"I asked you what you were thinking. Please, I can't stand the silence."

Mrs. Lovett hesitated before answering. There was a moment of complete silence. In that moment, Mrs. Lovett came to a decision, knowing full well that this decision could change everything. She certainly hoped it would.

"I should take that from you, Mrs. Barker. Shouldn't let you keep such a thing. You'll have black thoughts, you will, and then one day you'll let yourself do something foolish." Mrs. Lovett gently took the bottle from her hand, and Lucy let her. Now, there was a way to go about this, a way to make sure that nothing could come back to her. She had to be careful. "Do you really think that would be the right thing to do?"

Lucy took a deep breath. "Sometimes. I know Johanna could find a good home. She's such a well-behaved girl. And…I don't know how I'll keep her safe. I can't even keep myself safe. How will I keep her safe from anyone, Mrs. Lovett?" She looked at the cradle, envying the innocent being inside. Her thoughts were becoming increasingly disjointed, but she couldn't stop them from spilling out of her. "Poor Johanna, I'll ruin her, just like I've ruined everything. Everything I touch turns to ashes. Why can't I just forget it all and start over?" Her voice grew hysterical, her fists clenching in the folds of her dress. "I just can't do this anymore. I can't lead this life anymore. Do you understand? Tell me you understand, please. Tell me I'm not being selfish."

Mrs. Lovett was glad that Lucy was too distraught to see the look of disdain on her face. And this was the woman she had envied for so long. This sniveling little excuse for a woman had done nothing to help herself, nothing to prevent her inevitable ruin. Let her do herself in, then, if that's what she wanted so damn badly.

"I understand, dear. Living is hard these days. Some people just ain't fit to take care of themselves all alone. There's no one who'd blame you if you wanted to make an end of it." _Careful now, Nellie._ "Not that I'm saying you should, dear. Not at all. It's just that you shouldn't blame yourself for thinking that way every now and then. I know I would in your place. It certainly ain't easy to have your reputation ruined like that. Don't know what I would do, to be honest." As Mrs. Lovett spoke, she lifted the bottle in her hands so that it caught the light coming in from the window. She moved it from one hand to the other, the bottle shining with an almost unearthly light. She noticed that Lucy's eyes never left it, like a cat watching a mouse. It was a similar look to the one Mrs. Lovett was giving Lucy.

"Yes," Lucy said. "It has been difficult."

"Of course it has. And it's not as if Mr. Barker will ever know what happened."

At the mention of her husband's name, Lucy gave out a little whimper. "No, he won't. He won't come back. He'll never come back." She looked up suddenly into Mrs. Lovett's eyes. "Mrs. Lovett, you would never forget him, would you?"

Mrs. Lovett was somewhat startled by the abrupt question, but she thought honesty would be the best policy here. "Of course not, dear. I never could. He was always such a good man. It wouldn't be easy to forget such a man as him."

"No matter what, you wouldn't forget that he lived here, that he was a good husband and father? You'll keep his memory alive, Mrs. Lovett? You'll do that for me?"

"I swear it, Lucy. Until my dying breath, I'd swear it." Mrs. Lovett did not realize she had been holding her breath until she let out a shaky exhale. She thought it possible that she had never made such a sincere promise in her life.

Satisfied with Mrs. Lovett's vow, Lucy let out a deep sigh. "Oh, Benjamin, I'm so sorry," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears again. The world started to fade around her, and she was suddenly only conscious of a single orange light, one that promised to end her suffering. Lucy buried her head in her hands, an attempt to shut out the world around her. She forgot that Mrs. Lovett was even there; she forgot that she was alive. All she could do was continue to weep softly and relish the feeling of disconnection.

Mrs. Lovett watched all this without saying a word. It was clear to her that she had done all she could, but that Lucy was simply beyond her help. Poor dear, she was just too lost in her grief to be helped by anyone. It was a shame, but what more could she do?

Picking up her skirts, Mrs. Lovett got up from the floor. Lucy was still too far detached to notice. She didn't notice, either, when Mrs. Lovett carefully set the bottle of arsenic back on the floor, not too far from Lucy's hunched form.

_I tried to stop her_, she thought as she softly shut the door on her neighbor, _but she wouldn't listen to me._ And after a few years had passed, she would really start to believe it.


End file.
